


tap dancing on a land mine

by Culurien



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Humour, I just needed a little feel-good trash, M/M, Post-Endgame but blatantly glossing over the events of Endgame, Rimming, a modicum of hurt/comfort, everyone’s alive and well, mild bondage, public declarations of unbridled adoration and love, slightly excessive hickies, two grown-ass men acting like little shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culurien/pseuds/Culurien
Summary: Tony discovers, much to his delight, that Stephen holds a special hatred for being called “babe”. Of course, that means Tony only goes out of his way to push this newly discovered button of Stephen’s like it’s his god-given purpose in life. Because that’s what true love’s all about, right?





	tap dancing on a land mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】地雷上的踢踏舞](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153840) by [Nihilee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihilee/pseuds/Nihilee)



> Uuuuuhhhh. Well. Hope you guys like it? Just having a little fun. We all need a tiny pick-me-up after Endgame, I think. I also kept the Tower alive and not, well, sold because sue me, I like the damn thing. Alas, I shall prattle on no longer. Enjoy?

The first time it happened it was completely innocent. A tiny little word, a harmless term of endearment that passed Tony’s lips without much thought at all. It’s not like he was actively _trying_ to piss Stephen off—at least not at _that_ particular moment.

“Don’t wait up for me, babe,” he told Stephen as he walked past him, fresh cup of hot coffee in hand.

And he would’ve kept walking, would’ve walked right by Stephen none the wiser, except that Stephen’s head ripped away from his dusty tomes, a quick jerky motion that Tony couldn’t _help_ but notice. So he stopped. And turned to look at Stephen, who was glaring daggers at him. Granted, they were sophisticated _‘I am better than this trivial thing called anger’_ daggers, but they were daggers nonetheless.

A sly smile broke out on Tony’s face. His eyes lit up with self-satisfied smugness, his lips curling with the very familiar and welcome pleasure of finding yet _another_ hidden button of Stephen’s to push incessantly.

It was funny how much could be said without saying anything at all. Stephen’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he realized exactly what was going through Tony’s mind, and Tony was _living_ for that _‘if looks could kill’_ vibe.

“I won’t,” Stephen finally replied, his voice not quite giving away the same terseness his eyes were reading.

Tony’s grin widened. Apparently Stephen wasn’t going to acknowledge his inherent hatred of that little word. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those _‘let’s forget this ever happened’_ moments; this was most certainly one of those _‘Ooohhh I found something new and shiny to add to my List of Ways To Annoy Stephen and I’m gonna make damn well sure he knows it’_ moments.

What could Tony say, he had a thing for attention. More specifically, he had a particular self-destructive fondness for negative attention.

Whereas normally Tony would stay up all night tinkering in his workshop, completely unaware of and indifferent to the passing hours, today was just a little different. Tony had more important matters to attend to. So when FRIDAY (as per his request) informed him at about half-past eleven that Stephen was headed towards their unofficially shared bedroom, Tony had absolutely no qualms with putting aside what he was doing and setting off to meet him.

“You’re early,” Stephen noted throwing Tony a questioning look. “I thought you said you were working late.” He was sat on the mattress, in the middle of pulling the covers over himself.

Tony shrugged, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside. “What can I say. I like sleep.”

Stephen’s gaze turned incredulous. “You _despise_ it. I could have FRIDAY pull up footage of multiple instances I had to physically drag you kicking and screaming to bed.”

“Actually, you didn’t give me the chance to kick and scream. You just opened portals under me.”

“Same principle,” Stephen argued.

Tony shrugged again, tossing his pants in the general direction of his shirt and dropping onto the mattress. “I’m a changed man.”

Stephen didn’t even bother trying to cover up exactly what he thought of that notion.

“What? I’m not allowed to _develop_ and _grow_ as a human being?” Tony insisted.

“It’s not a question of whether you’re _allowed,_ it’s a question of whether you have the capacity.”

“You’re mean.”

“And you’re in bed before _midnight. Willingly.”_

“Maybe I thought we could, you know… _enjoy each other’s company.”_

“No, that’s not it.” Stephen’s eyes narrowed skeptically.

“You’re overthinking this,” Tony declared, “Go to sleep. FRI, dock the lights.” His head hit the pillow as the lights obliged and turned off. Tony shifted around until he could find a comfortable position on his side. Stephen, though clearly still distrustful of anything that had just been said in the last minute, followed suit. He laid down with his back to Tony, who moved in closer to wrap himself around Stephen, throwing an arm over Stephen’s waist and pulling him close.

 _“I’m_ overthinking something and _you’re_ advocating for sleep. Do I have a concussion? I don’t remember getting hit in the head,” Stephen wondered. Suddenly, he whipped around, grabbing Tony’s head between his hands and examining him closely. “Did _you_ hit your head? FRIDAY, turn on the lights. Tony, you have to be more careful—” He started to lecture as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, peering down at Tony intently, but Tony cut him off.

“I didn’t hit my head,” Tony assured. Stephen didn’t let go.

“You’re displaying classic signs of a head injury, confusion—is this why you want to sleep? Are you fatigued? Headache? Memory loss. Have you simply forgotten how much you dislike—”

“Jesus, Stephen, I didn’t hit my head. FRIDAY, turn the damn lights off,” Tony insisted affectionately, pulling Stephen back down to the pillows. Stephen was adorable when he was concerned. Having learned that Tony liked to keep his various bumps and bruises to himself, he’d gotten into the habit of constantly assuming there was hidden damage Tony wasn’t sharing with the class. It was cute. Stephen of course vehemently disagreed that it was cute _at all_ because _‘hiding injuries that impede your ability to function is anything but cute, and neither is the fact that I have to watch you like a hawk. I’m not your nursemaid.’_

Really, Stephen didn’t mind. Well, he minded the denial of injuries on Tony’s part. And was convinced that Tony was in on some massive conspiracy to hide any and all injuries specifically from Stephen. But other than _that_ he didn’t really mind.

Now it was dark and they were close, face-to-face. Stephen’s hands still framed Tony’s face, trembling, but their previous insistent urgency had given way to a gentler touch.

Tony snuck forward to stole a quick kiss from Stephen’s lips. Before he could retreat very far, Stephen was chasing him back, closing in to catch another kiss from Tony, and then another, and then another. It was sweet, gentle, affectionate. Both their eyes fell closed, relaxing into each other’s embrace as they traded kisses.

Against Stephen’s lips, Tony muttered softly, “Night, _babe.”_

And found himself promptly shoved away to the other side of the bed.

 _“Goddamnit,_ Tony.” Stephen flipped over, turning his back to his bedmate and crossing his arms as Tony cackled, pumping his fists up into the air with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face.

Mission accomplished.

∞∞∞

“I am going to personally _throttle_ him.” Stephen pulled open a portal and stormed into the Sanctum, Tony following close behind, still mostly wearing his armour. The face plate had been dismissed a while ago.

“Normally I would agree with you, hell, I’d end him myself, but—”

“There’s no but. I don’t care if Thor claims he’s just _bored,_ Loki doesn’t just get to open _dimensional tears_ in the middle of Central Park and unleash a savage pack of extraterrestrial creatures upon unsuspecting civilians.”

“I’m totally on your side here, Stephen, don’t get me wrong. I’d love nothing more than to watch you crush Loki like a bug, but things just got good between Rogers and me—”

“Ish.”

“It’s the effort that counts.”

“Pretty sure it’s the results.”

 _“My point is,_ now we’re going to start a _new_ civil war between you and _Thor?_ Doesn’t seem like the best plan.” Tony put away the rest of the armour, channeling it back into the housing unit that sat neatly against his chest. They both started up the stairs—Stephen looking to find Wong and Tony just trying to make sure Stephen didn’t actually hog-tie Loki and gut him from stem to stern.

“Are you saying that you wouldn’t take my side?” Stephen inquired, deadly calm. Of course Tony would take his side. And it didn’t make sense to declare full-out war on Thor by obliterating his brother. Stephen knew all that, but damnit, Thor had to keep a tighter leash on Loki.

“No, I’m saying icing his little brother because he’s being a little shit is a bit of a knee-jerk reaction. And this is coming from me, King of Knee-Jerk Reactions.”

“Fine. I’ll just take his arms.”

“Take his arms?” Tony couldn’t tell how serious Stephen was. It’d been a bit of a while since Tony had seen him so riled up.

“Seems to like his hands where they are. I like my city the way it is. I’ll consider us even,” Stephen muttered back darkly.

“He’ll probably want them back.” Tony looked away and chuckled, “There’s a funny thought. Loki running at you, full force, frothing at the mouth, _no arms.”_

Stephen stopped at the top of the stairs and turned back to catch Tony’s eyes, smirking. His anger seemed to slough off somewhat, shoulders relaxing.

“That _would_ be amusing.”

“Still not a great idea. But I mean, say the word and his arms are yours. I’ll get them myself. Maybe Wong can gift wrap ‘em.”

“So sweet,” Stephen acknowledged sarcastically.

“I will not,” Wong called out from one of the many hallways. Tony had absolutely no idea where he was yelling from, but Stephen seemed to know exactly where Wong was, breaking off sharply to walk towards him. Tony followed.

“Snogs,” Tony suddenly declared in an effort to lighten the mood a little further.

“What?” Stephen kept walking.

“I’m giving them an official name. Snogs. Snake dogs.”

“They were interdimensional serpent-wolf hybrids, not—yeah, ok, point taken.”

“Kind of a dumb combination. Not as agile as you’d think. Wherever they came from, evolution was not kind.”

“Evolution does not have the capacity for kindness, Stark,” Wong lectured. He was manipulating a big glowey map of some sort—New York, Tony recognized—in the air. A bunch of colourful little lines crisscrossed haphazardly across the projection of the city.

“Did you pinpoint the origin of the tear?” Stephen asked. Wong indicated to one of those little lines. It looked like it had popped seam, stitches coming apart to reveal a gaping wound underneath.

“I’m no expert but that looks… kind of _massive_. Gonna need a big needle. And a lot of thread,” Tony noted.

“I’m going to have _words_ with Thor,” Stephen promised. “After I demolish his brother.”

“If that’s what your heart desires. I’ll hold off Goldilocks while you take the Asgardian weasel. We’ll tag team it,” Tony replied easily.

“Maybe he just needs another half hour of falling time to remind him of his place,” Stephen mused.

“Falling time?” Tony questioned.

“Ceaseless plummeting through an inescapable empty void of nothingness.”

“ _Jesus._ Remind me not to piss you off.”

“I do. Constantly. You persist nonetheless.”

“It’s true, Stark, your nuisance does not heed warning,” Wong agreed, banishing the map and turning back to Stephen. “The general hold you placed on the area won’t last much longer. You need to close the fissure.”

Stephen nodded. “I’m aware.”

“Sounds like a bunch of magical Hogwarts crap you don’t need me for. Much as I like watching you do your wizard thing—” Tony winked at Stephen.

“Once more, I request that you keep the less professional aspects of your relationship to yourself,” Wong cut in, frowning like he’d just bitten into something particularly distasteful. Stephen couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“I’ve got a date with a beautiful lady,” Tony continued.

“Should I be jealous?” Stephen questioned.

“Depends. Are you an AI in need of another humour subroutine?”

“Your sense of humour is paltry at best, so no thanks.”

“You think I’m hilarious,” Tony shot back.

“Nope. Ridiculous? Definitely. Hilarious, _eh.”_

_“Eh?”_

“Eh.”

“I don’t see how this conversation pertains to the dimensional tear,” Wong interrupted darkly.

“Wong, you’re witnessing the end of our love affair. The man doesn’t think I’m funny. Have some compassion,” Tony accused, clutching at his chest dramatically. Stephen rolled his eyes.

“If only that were true,” Wong replied, almost wistfully.

“Go play with your toys.” Stephen directed Tony away with a wave of a hand.

“FRIDAY’s not a _toy_. She’s a fully-functioning AI who could wipe the floor with both your asses.”

“If you’re not going to help—” Stephen started.

“Got the memo. Leaving.” Tony turned and began walking out of the room. “Don’t eviscerate our favourite Asgardian delinquent without me.”

Tony turned again and kept taking a few steps backwards, casting a glance over at Wong and then catching Stephen’s eye. There was a wicked gleam in Tony’s gaze that Stephen immediately recognized as trouble. Unfortunately, he didn’t react _quite_ quickly enough.

“Have fun, babe,” Tony offered sweetly, smiling wide. Wong’s eyebrows instantly shot up, an expression Tony would cherish forever, but not nearly as much as that look of sudden fury that leapt into Stephen’s eyes.

In retrospect, Tony probably should’ve been looking where he was going (and maybe reacted a bit faster to Stephen’s hands coming up to do the twirly thing), he realized as the freshly opened portal he’d unwittingly stepped backwards into snapped shut in his face, leaving him stranded on… a beach.

“Uh, FRI?” Tony questioned, pulling on his glasses as he looked out at the ocean.

“You’re in Guam, boss. Should I arrange transport back to New York?” She answered evenly, displaying possible flight plans on his glasses.

Tony grinned, and then chuckled, kicking up a bit of sand.

Worth it.

∞∞∞

Wong opened his mouth but never got a word out.

“Don’t,” Stephen warned, stalking past him, cloak fluttering dramatically as he summoned a portal back to the park and stepped through.

Wong took a moment to watch the portal fizz out and close. He looked over to where Stark had been banished from. The _tiniest_ hint of a smile crept onto his lips and one, deep, amused snort pushed past his nose. Shaking his head momentarily, he walked out of the room and went about continuing his sacred tasks. The books could not watch themselves. Well. _Most_ of them couldn’t.

∞∞∞

Tony walked out of the elevator and made a beeline for the kitchen. He had an inkling that was where Stephen would be; he seemed to like cluttering the tables with his books. But Tony wasn’t gonna lie, it was coffee first and foremost on his mind after his flight back home. His suit was many things, but sadly a coffee machine it was not. Yet.

As predicted, Stephen was floating in the kitchen, calmly leafing through some ancient Sanskrit spell-book like the creepy witch he refused to admit he was. The cloak sat innocently on his shoulders, holding him aloft. Tony knew better than to trust that quiet, scheming bit of fabric. He narrowed his eyes at it, reminding it he was watching. There would be no funny business. It flapped at him in response. Viciously. The _nerve_ of that thing.

“Stop glaring at the cloak and maybe it’ll learn to like you. Or at least tolerate you. God knows that’s quite the feat though, so I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Stephen commented, not bothering to look up from his text.

“Quite a feat to win the thing over, or to tolerate me?” Tony sought to clarify. Stephen said nothing, which said everything.

“Guam’s nice this time of year,” Tony offered conversationally, walking past his floating sorcerer and heading straight for the beloved coffee machine.

“Is it? I wouldn’t know.”

“Could’ve sent me to the Arctic.”

“I still might.”

It was then that Tony noticed the golden horned helmet hidden behind a stack of books.

“Isn’t that—”

“Yep.”

“I told you to wait for me,” Tony pouted. The coffee machine booped cheerfully and began spewing hot, delicious ambrosia into the waiting _Beam me up, Scotty!_ mug.

“You were otherwise occupied.”

“Because _someone_ banished me to an island halfway around the globe.”

“Sounds pretty occupied to me.”

“Uh huh.” Tony picked up the mug and took a sip, sighing in relief. He walked over to the table and peered at the helmet, poking it.

“Hey, Dumbo.” Tony looked up at Stephen, who threw him a withering glare.

_“Dumbo?”_

Tony gestured vaguely at the cloak. “Big, red, albeit _mean,_ feather that lets you fly. The power’s really inside _you_ though, Stephen,” he insisted motivationally. Stephen said nothing, just kept glaring, his eyes narrowing with each word.

“No?” Tony ventured.

“No.”

Tony shrugged indifferently, taking another swig and turning his attention back to Loki’s confiscated signature headwear.

“You know he’s totally gonna break into the tower to come after this,” Tony pointed out, running a finger up a golden horn.

“Probably. You shouldn’t touch it.” Stephen turned his focus back to the book splayed open in front of him. Tony ignored the warning, as Tony was wont to do.

“That’ll be fun. Like a couples’ bonding exercise. Fight a pissy Norse god together.”

“Yes, I believe that comes right after trust falls.” Stephen regretted the words the second they passed his lips. _Damn_. That was thoughtless.

“I still have that bruise,” Tony informed him.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do! I feel it all the time. Pain, stiffness when I walk.”

“That’s just old age,” Stephen replied passively, still looking at his text but very much not reading. He was strangely still, silently hoping Tony would stop being _Tony_ for half a moment and drop it. It had admittedly not been one of Stephen’s finest moments and not something he was keen to argue over _again_.

“Oh, clever. Haha. _Really_ funny.” Tony stopped, letting the moment draw out for a bit and feeding into Stephen’s false hope.

“I still can’t believe you _dropped_ me.” And there it was.

“Will you ever let that go?” Stephen snapped his book shut and sent it over to the table, legs stretching down as he floated back to the ground.

“Like you let _me_ go?” That was funny. That was a good one; Stephen had to applaud that one. Not that he was going to outwardly acknowledge Tony’s wit.

“It was not my fault; the cloak pulled me back.”

“It was a _trust_ fall and you _dropped me.”_

Stephen crossed his arms and frowned. He really didn’t look as imposing as he probably meant to in worn jeans and one of Tony’s old Metallica t-shirts. It didn’t quite complete the angry, caped wizard look. More like indignant emo-teen going through a cloak phase. Tony decided to keep that observation to himself. He had the sense Stephen wasn’t kidding about the Arctic not being totally out of the question.

“And whose idea were the trust falls to begin with?” Stephen finally retorted.

“That’s the best you— _ow!”_ Tony hissed and ripped his hand away from the helmet he’d been absentmindedly tracing. A tiny bead of crimson collected on his finger. Stupid _horns._ What the fuck was the _point_ of them anyway? Was Tony missing something? Was Loki the god of _cows?_ Fucking Asgardians, man.

He placed the mug aside to cradle his hand and looked up despairingly at Stephen, holding his finger out to be pitied and cooed over. “Fix me.”

“That’s why I tell you _not_ to touch things,” Stephen reprimanded, stepping forward.

“I bet somewhere out there Loki’s laughing maniacally. Little _fucker._ I’ll get him for that,” Tony vowed, glaring at the helmet sitting there all self-satisfied.

“Yes, I can hear it now, the cackling. His master plan is coming together,” Stephen replied dryly. “Let me see.”

“I’m bleeding.”

“I see that. Give me your hand.”

“Kinda hurts.” Tony peered closer at his finger, distracted, the bead now more of a trickle. “It’s like a _river_ of blood.”

Stephen pulled Tony’s hand by his wrist, taking a closer look. “You barely cut yourself,” he deadpanned.

“It’s gushing,” Tony insisted.

“It’s a paper cut.”

“I’m _dying.”_

“Hardly.”

“How can you be so callous. The love of your life is bleeding out in front of you as we speak.”

“Is that what you are.” Stephen smirked, looking up from Tony’s finger.

 _“Duh._ Do something, magic man, or lose the man of your dreams.”

“Maybe he’ll be less bothersome then.”

“Oh, _my heart.”_ Tony stumbled backwards, his hand slipping from Stephen’s grasp. “Catch me, Stephen, I’m falling,” Tony declared, eyes slipping closed as he pressed a hand against his forehead, mimicking a fainting damsel of yesteryear and then _actually tipping over backwards._

“Tony!” Stephen lunged forwards and grabbed him by the waist (sue him, it was the closest bit to grab). Tony cracked an eye open from under his hand and looked up at Stephen, then eyed the cape.

“Cloak pulled you back, _my ass,”_ Tony argued, nodding towards the cloak that _so conveniently_ didn’t pull Stephen away from Tony’s rescue _this time._

“And _this_ is how you decided to go about proving that.”

“But I’m right! You _did_ drop me.”

“Bold accusations to make of the one man standing between you and a cracked skull,” Stephen pointed out, still holding up most of Tony’s weight. Mostly because Tony was an ass and wanted to see how long Stephen would stand there, holding him at such a precarious angle.

“I’d say you wouldn’t dare, but then again _you already have,_ so...”

“Cheeky.”

“The cheekiest,” Tony agreed.

They stood there for a little longer. Well, one of them stood, the other leaned.

“Planning on re-taking your weight any time soon?” Stephen wondered.

“Nah. I’m pretty comfortable. Why? Getting tired?”

“Nope.”

“You’re gonna drop me aren’t you.”

“Nope.”

“You totally are.”

“Are you advocating for your release?”

“You’re gonna drop me right on my ass.”

“Tempting as you're making it, _no.”_

“So you’re just going to stand there, holding me up.”

“As long as it takes.”

“You’re so sweet, _babe.”_

Stephen dropped him.

Tony stumbled backwards, laughing, as he fought to regain his balance and Stephen returned to his books, unconcerned.

“Told you so.” Tony sounded way too smug for someone who just nearly escaped being dumped on his ass in Stephen’s opinion.

If Stephen was going to reply, FRIDAY cut him off. “Peter’s downstairs asking for you, boss.” She patched Peter’s voice through to the kitchen.

“Uh, _guys?_ Mr. Stark? _Hello?”_

“Hey, kid. What’s crackin’.”

“...You said I should come by after school so you could go over the new—” Peter hesitated.

“Suit functions. _Right_. Good thing I’m not still _in Guam,”_ Tony muttered the last bit for the benefit of those specifically in the room with him. Stephen stood steadfast by the temporary banishment and made no comment.

“Guam? I don’t get it,” Peter replied, hearing abnormally keen as ever.

“Don’t worry about it. Just wizard shenanigans. You know how _Lord Voldemort_ over here can get. Come on up. We’re in the kitchen.” Stephen huffed in annoyance at the comparison and Tony barely held back the urge to stick his tongue out. He was better than that. _Barely._

There was silence from the other end.

“Not getting any younger, kid,” Tony prodded after a moment.

“It’s just that— _oh geez,_ uh, you guys aren’t… _doing stuff._ Again. Are you?” Peter sounded like he wanted the floor to eat him up.

“There won’t be any _doing stuff_ for the foreseeable future, trust me,” Stephen muttered darkly, shooting Tony a baleful glare from behind his books.

“I—uh—” Peter started stammering. He really didn’t know what to say. Tony could hear the desperation to turn tail and run home in his voice.

“No, we’re not— _Jesus,_ Parker, just get in the elevator.”

“Right. _Yes_. Elevator. Ok. Sure thing, Mr. Stark.” The connection cut out.

“My anxious little arachnid,” Tony remarked fondly, scooping up his coffee mug and heading out to meet Peter.

“You’d think he has to put up with _you_. On a regular basis. Would make anyone anxious,” Stephen observed cooly.

“I am an honour and a blessing.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Tony passed beyond Stephen’s line of sight. It was quiet, finally. The occasional whoosh of his cloak, but beyond that, _silence_. Stephen could focus on his—

“Mr. Stark, _you’re bleeding!”_ Peter’s panicked voice erupted from the room over.

Stephen sighed and picked up a few choice tomes. A night at the Sanctum it was then.

∞∞∞

“Ready, _darling?”_ Tony called out from the bathroom.

“Will you stop.”

“Stop what, _sweetums?”_

“I know what you’re doing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, _snappea.”_

Stephen rolled his eyes, focusing back on the mirror as he steeled himself to begin his silent struggle with the godforsaken shirt buttons. He grabbed the top button in one hand, steadying it the best he could, and tried to slip it through the matching hole. The button slipped from his fingers _twice_. This was the true meaning of suffering. Stephen was four seconds away from burning the goddamn shirt.

And then it went in. The fucking button went through the fucking hole and he was one fucking step closer to conquering the fucking dress shirt. He allowed himself a moment to bask in his victory, and then continued on.

“Give me a minute,” Stephen called back. “Almost done.”

Two buttons down. Who was the man? _He_ was the man. He shouldn’t get so excited over shirt buttons. And yet.

“You look hot,” Tony remarked, stepping out into the room, adjusting his cuffs.

“You just like me with my clothes off,” Stephen replied.

Tony grinned. “Guilty.”

Three buttons. Small victories.

“Boss, Ms. Potts is headed toward the room,” FRIDAY informed them.

“Probably to nag,” Tony muttered. “She’s very good at that.”

Stephen smiled. It wasn’t very genuine. He needed Tony to shut up because this fourth goddamn button _would not_ —it slipped from his fingers again. Damnit.

“Need an assist?” Tony asked. He didn’t make any move towards Stephen. Testing the waters, then. That was fair.

“Nope.”

There was a knock at the door. “Tony?” Pepper called out.

“We’re decent!” Tony called back. He flashed Pepper a smile as she walked in.

“You’re many things, Tony, but _decent_ isn’t the first one I’d pick,” she responded.

“Hello to you too.”

The button slipped, again, from his shaking fingers. Stephen would swear they were teaming up against him, the shaking worsening with each attempt.

 _“Fuck,”_ he muttered under his breath. He noticed Tony throw him a look in the mirror, but Tony said nothing. Probably a wise decision.

“You look stunning,” Tony complimented Pepper, pulling her in for a hug. “But you already know that.”

“I’m always stunning,” Pepper joked, smiling.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Most of your guests are here. I know how fond you are of a dramatic entrance, but maybe you should start heading down.”

“See? _Nagging._ What did I say.”

Stephen hummed in amusement, entirely for Tony’s benefit and really not paying attention to what Tony was saying at all because this cursed button would just not fit _in the fucking_ —

“Damnit.” It slipped away from him again.

“No rush,” Pepper amended, a little too softly for Stephen’s liking. And if that didn’t just make him tense all over. He wasn’t a goddamn _invalid;_ he could put a fucking shirt on and he didn’t need her pity _._

“I’ll see you down there, Pep,” Tony said smoothly, offering her a warm smile and a way out. She nodded and took it gratefully.

“Just don’t… You know, it’s probably fine. No one expects Tony Stark to be on time.” Pepper slipped from the room with another glance in Stephen’s direction, closing the door gently behind her.

The room was quiet.

Stephen was still stuck on the fourth button.

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me.”

“Uh, _yeah_ I do. You’ll smack me with a magical fire rope or boop me into the middle of the Outback,” Tony retorted. He still didn’t move towards Stephen.

“I can dress myself,” Stephen insisted calmly.

“Not saying otherwise,” Tony promised. “But maybe I could help speed the process up a bit.” Yeah, that was probably not the right way to phrase that.

“Sorry, am I taking too long?” Stephen’s voice was dark and flat.

“Yeah, that’s not what I meant. They’re _buttons,_ Stephen,” Tony started walking towards him, speaking kindly, but never hitting condescending. “You protect the planet from otherworldly threats on a daily basis, half of which basically no one else can even _comprehend_. I think it’s ok if I do a few buttons for you.”

The fourth little bastard slipped from his fingers again and Stephen just about vanished the whole damn shirt. This was ridiculous. He looked away from the slippery little fucker and up at the mirror. And then frowned deeper.

“I missed one.” Stephen clenched his jaw. He missed a fucking button. Woohoo, three buttons done, put in the _wrong fucking holes._ “How the hell did I manage that.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure when would be a good time to mention that.”

“At the beginning. _Before_ I kept going.”

“You were in your adamant I Can Do This mode. Didn’t wanna harsh your vibe.”

Stephen sighed internally. It seemed the shirt would conquer him after all. _Great_.

Tony stepped up behind him and spun Stephen around by the shoulders. He went willingly.

“See, the thing is,” Tony started as he pulled apart the misaligned buttons, “We’re a team, you and me. That means your wins are my wins, vice versa, and same thing with loses.”

“If you’re going to start spouting—”

“Quiet, let _me_ be the wise one for once,” Tony cut in before Stephen could properly interrupt him. He started doing up Stephen’s shirt buttons, leaving the top one undone.

“We’re a unit. Two people as one. Stephen and Tony against the world, yada yada, souls and stuff. A _team_. Team Tony.”

“Team Tony? Has anyone ever told you the sheer magnitude of your humility is awe-inspiring.”

“All the time. The _point_ is,” Tony was done four buttons now, “We’re in this together. So if I lose my head and start going _at_ someone, you’re there to dump water on me and pull me back. When you’re beating up some bad guy with your magic ninja moves, I’m there, firing right alongside you. When Rogers is being a _dick_ and I want to yank his _eyelashes_ out, you’re there to subtly trip him. And when I can’t sleep at night, you’ve got my back, _literally,_ and everything’s alright. So if you’re having problems with a few unruly buttons, you can count on me to beat them the fuck down and put them in their proper places.” Tony had already finished with the last button and was resting his hands against Stephen’s chest, his lips quirked into a lopsided grin.

“We’re awesome facial hair bros,” Tony concluded happily.

“You just ruined the moment.”

“Did no such thing.”

“Destroyed it. _Utterly.”_

“I’m gonna make t-shirts.”

“God. Why did it have to be you.”

“Because we’re _soulmates_. Don’t fight it Stephen. Make love, not war.”

They were both grinning. Stephen wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist and pulled him in closer so they were pressed right against each other, Tony’s hands still resting on his chest.

“You’re wrinkling my jacket,” Tony grumbled.

“Your wrinkles are _my_ wrinkles. Team wrinkles.”

“Then we’re both wrinkly. That’s not helpful.”

“We’ll match though.”

“Give everyone the wrong idea.”

“Since when has that stopped you.”

“Uh, lemme see, _never.”_ Tony leaned in and pressed a kiss against Stephen’s lips. Did he have to stretch up on his toes a tiny little bit? Yup. Was Stephen going to point that out? Definitely.

“Does that mean your shortness is my shortness,” Stephen muttered against him.

“Fuck off.” Tony bit Stephen’s lip and Stephen chuckled lightly.

“We should head downstairs.” Stephen stepped back and made for the jacket laid out on the bed.

“After you, _peaches,”_ Tony insisted, one hand gallantly gestured towards the door. Stephen rolled his eyes.

“You just want to stare at my ass.”

“Yeah, so?”

Stephen pulled the jacket on and Tony stepped forwards, straightening it. “You look dashing.”

“You look _alright,_ I suppose.” Stephen replied with a slight smirk.

Tony trailed behind Stephen out the room, and he did stare at his ass. Unabashedly. Stephen couldn’t blame him; he had a fantastic ass.

Tony did step out in front once they got to the stairs to get his dramatic entrance, of course. A meticulously pre-planned batch of indoor fireworks (Stephen had tried and failed to convince Tony that that _wasn’t_ a thing) exploded from both sides of the stairs as soon as Tony set foot on them, lighting the room up, breaking out over the already loud music.

“Drink, eat, be merry! Let’s rip this New Year a new one!” Tony yelled out to the room, grinning wide, arms stretched out. Everyone cheered—even Nat got in on it—and yes, Tony was soaking it up like a neglected sponge. Stephen couldn’t help but roll his eyes, _again_ —Tony just had that effect on him.

He even didn’t mind when Tony grabbed his hand and pulled him down the stairs with him. PDA was not his thing, but whatever. Stephen was in a giving mood.

The night passed by quite eventfully. Way too much alcohol going around, food constantly being dished out at an insane rate, and loud music had a way of doing that.

Almost everyone they knew had gotten roped in; even Fury was standing in a group. Though ‘amicably chatting’ was not how Stephen would describe him. More… levelling an intensely judgemental _I did not approve you_ glare at anyone who dared step within a four mile radius of his person. So, everyone in the room. Stephen respected that.

Thor had brought Loki in the spirit of holiday togetherness, _despite_ Tony’s not so-subtle hints that evil baby brothers were most certainly _not_ welcome. He seemed to be behaving, however, from what Stephen could tell. He didn’t quite catch him before Loki turned half the bottles of red wine to sheep’s blood, but Stephen was willing to let that one slide. He had the feeling it was Loki’s twisted sense of an olive branch, since he only destroyed _half_ of the bottles. Previous frustrations and intense distrust aside, Stephen had to admit Loki seemed to make Thor happy, and tonight just felt like a night people should be allowed to be happy. One night of the year wasn’t too much to ask for, especially after all the shit Thanos had put them through. He’d let Loki lurk.

And then there was Peter. Pepper had fondly recollected to Stephen how Peter had basically dragged his aunt in by the wrist, almost breaking out into a sprint with barely contained exuberation for being at _a Tony Stark New Years Party! Woah!_ To his credit, he only tripped over himself twice before getting engaged in a long, arduous-sounding conversation with Banner and Tony about the intricacies of organic chemistry and the implications of the new developments in the technological fields for manipulating particles not only at a molecular, but subatomic level, or something along those lines. Stephen wasn’t really listening. The three of them tended to fall into an excited tech babble when they were around each other and Stephen couldn’t be bothered to put the effort into translating. Let Tony have his fun.

He drifted away for a bit, chatting with Christine and subsequently introducing her to Wong who had begrudgingly allowed himself to be coerced into spending just one night interacting with humans, then chatted Natasha up for her collection of embarrassing Tony stories (though admittedly there had been little _chatting up_ since she’d been thrilled to share, and Stephen doubted he would’ve gotten anything out of her anyway if she hadn’t been), and somehow then got pulled into an intellectual debate with what Tony would’ve (and probably already had) dubbed a large pile of talking rocks. Korg was incredibly passionate about the politics of various extraterrestrial societies, something Stephen knew little about, but was happy for a lively debate nonetheless. And if Korg didn’t realize that Stephen was making up half the planets and the respective nuances of their political organizations as he went along, it wouldn’t hurt him.

The cloak seemed to be having a good time, too, apparently fully immersed in from what Stephen could tell was an argument with a bipedal racoon. How exactly that was taking place, or _why,_ Stephen wasn’t so sure he needed to find out. Some mysteries of the universe deserved to stay as such.

The buttons were long forgotten, but the hands that had put them together for him were not. Stephen hadn’t laid eyes on Tony for a while and it was getting close to midnight. He looked around the room, but failed to spot him. That didn’t bode well. Stephen automatically started searching for Rogers, and then when he spotted him still attached at the hip to Barnes, for Loki, but he found him rather quickly too. Which mostly crossed _‘in a fight’_ off the list, but Stephen wasn’t ready to lower his guard just yet.

“Boo,” a familiar voice murmured in his ear as two arms wrapped around him from behind. And Stephen didn’t jump. He _didn’t._ He was the Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts. He did not get _snuck up_ on.

“Looking for me?” Tony asked. Stephen turned around, pulling back just a little. Tony let his hands fall to Stephen’s waist. It was dark. Lots of people around, too many for anyone to really make out anything, but Tony didn’t press it.

“I thought perhaps Loki was strangling you behind a plant.”

“Aw, you were _worried.”_

“Mildly concerned.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“Congratulations, you know how clocks work.”

“Ready for a new year?”

“Another year with _you_ in tow?”

“Looks like.”

“I suppose. If I _must.”_

“Such a romantic. A man after my own heart.”

“And here I was under the impression I already had it.” Stephen’s hands came up to rest on Tony’s arms.

“Stephen, you _sap.”_ Tony was really grinning now, bright as a supernova.

“What can I say, I’m in love with a man and he has a talent for occasionally making me dumb.”

“Yeah? I bet he’s a pretty awesome guy.”

“He is pretty awesome,” Stephen agreed.

“I bet he’s super hot too.”

“He likes to think so.”

Tony grinned. “I have it on good authority that he’s the smartest guy in the room. Save for you of course.”

“Only the best for me.”

“He must be pretty damn cool to land a guy like you.”

“Or lucky.”

“He’s _definitely_ very lucky. And hands down _the best_ kisser you’ll ever meet.”

“Among other things.” Stephen smirked.

“Sounds like a real catch, this guy.”

“You’ll have to meet him one day. I think you two would have a lot in common. You might not like him too much though.”

“Ouch, that got a bit real.”

“That’s alright, I love him enough for the both of us.”

“That is both the sweetest and most horrible thing anyone’s ever said to me. This is exactly why we’re so great together, b—”

“Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Uh huh. Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Honest. Wasn’t gonna say a word.”

“Forgive me for having difficulty believing that.” Stephen arched an eyebrow. He was still smiling though.

“Bae. I was gonna say bae,” Tony declared after a moment.

“What the hell is that?”

“Not entirely sure. Something the kids say,” Tony admitted.

“The _kids?_ What are you, eighty?”

“Peter wouldn’t shut up about baes and something called a yeet. Apparently one yeets oneself off buildings after biology tests. Kid confuses the fuck out of me.”

“Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“That’s why I have you.”

“It’s a two person job. On a _good_ day. And this is coming from the former neurosurgeon extraordinaire, current Master of the Mystic Arts and Protector of Earth.”

“I feel so ganged up on,” Tony glanced at the big holographic time display hanging over the room. “Thirty seconds. Now’s the time to find someone else to kiss. Speak or forever hold your pee.”

“That’s _not_ how the saying goes.”

“I always thought it was a bit cruel.”

“Wait, you actually thought that was how it went?”

“A lot of old sayings are weird if you really think about them. I mean, come one, _screw the pooch?”_

“I can’t believe you went over four decades thinking it was forever hold your _pee_.”

Tony just grinned.

“You’re fucking with me,” Stephen realized.

The music died down, as it was programmed to do, and the room burst out yelling, “TEN!”

“I’ll never hear again,” Stephen lamented. “This level decibels is not conducive to long-lasting quality of hearing.”

“Stop bitching.”

“Hearing loss is no joking matter.”

Neither of them joined the count, but they both turned to stare up at the hologram, waiting out the last few seconds in each other’s arms before the time hit 0:00 and everyone screamed out their New Year’s greetings. Another, slightly more _enthusiastic_ batch of ‘indoor fireworks’ took off from somewhere within the walls, fighting for noise dominance with the re-amped music, the yelling, and the incessant popping of champagne that seemed to emanate from absolutely every corner of the room.

Of course neither Stephen nor Tony were particularly focused on the noises surrounding them, much too wrapped up in something more pressing. It was by no means a chaste kiss, but Stephen was well aware of the fact that there were other people in the room, especially _Peter,_ so he was less than cooperative when Tony tried to slip him the tongue. Decorum, and all that. He’d make up for it later.

“Time for New Year’s Resolutions,” Tony said, smiling a little too eagerly for someone about to pledge to cut down on carbs or _get more sleep._

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. Because he wasn’t going to do that, _was he._

“What the hell are you up to, Stark.”

Tony just winked and slipped away. Perhaps it was his morbid sense of curiosity, but Stephen surprised himself by letting Tony get away and just watching as he moved through the sea of familiar faces, making his way over to the stage where Quill was DJ-ing.

Tony was surprised too. He thought for sure he was going to get magically lassoed or some portal to Mexico would open up under him, but he made it to the stage unfettered. He scooped up the waiting mic from the table, exchanged grins with Quill, and turned around to face his audience. The music died down and the chatting followed.

“Having a good time? Course you’re having a good time.” Tony smiled out at everyone. “My parties are the shit. But it’s New Years, and we’ve all got this quaint little resolution-making tradition we seem to like, so I thought I’d just kick it off for everyone.”

He caught Stephen’s eye across the room and smiled wider, pointing a finger out at him. A spot light helpfully lit Stephen up for everyone in the otherwise relatively dim room to see. Tony waited a beat, half-expecting the floor to drop out beneath him into an ocean. It didn’t. Fantastic.

Not breaking eye contact with Stephen, Tony continued. “That man right there, love of my life.” There were quite a few murmurs of adoration from the room, sweet smiles, a couple catcalls (Thanks Clint), and Tony was pretty sure he heard Rhodey mutter, _“Jesus Christ,”_ all of which just made him smile wider. Stephen was going to _kill_ him. Best New Years ever.

“This New Year’s I resolve to make sure I show him everyday just how much he means to me. Even when he’s being a dick. Though admittedly that role tends to fall to me, as I’m sure you’ve all experienced first-hand. But I digress.” And was that a hint of a smile Tony saw gracing Stephen’s beautiful face? It sure was. He could cross his arms all he wanted, but Tony was just getting started.

He threw a hand back towards Quill, giving a sharp nod. “Hit it.”

The spotlight on Stephen was killed as the unmistakable drum beat started up and Tony’s heel tapped along with it, head popping up to look at Stephen as the guitar started to play a few seconds later.

 _“Rag Doll? Really?”_ Stephen mouthed at him. It wasn’t nearly dark enough not to make that out; the light had been purely for the sake of irritating Stephen. Tony smirked. Stephen shook his head, but kept watching Tony anyway. Tony started swaying his hips to the beat, thriving under the gaze of everyone, and then running his fingers over his non-existent guitar strings as the last few chords rang out before the lyrics kicked in.

 _“Rag Doll, livin’ in a movie!”_ Tony belted, and not tunelessly. Somewhere Natasha hooted approvingly. _“Hot tramp, Daddy’s little cutie,”_ his free hand shot up again to point right at Stephen, as if it wasn’t yet painfully clear who he was singing to, _“You’re so fine they’ll never see ya leavin’ by the back door, mam.”_

Stephen’s body language didn’t exactly read ecstatic, but Tony continued unperturbed, kicking at the stage enthusiastically with the drums and generally making an ass of himself, but having a damn good time doing it. That attention thing, remember?

 _“Hot time get it while it’s easy.”_ He winked at Stephen. Stephen did not wink back.

_“Don’t mind come on up and see me. Rag Doll, baby won’t you do me like you done before.”_

The room seemed pleased, jiving along with him, laughter and join-ins abound. Someone started up a clap. Tony was so terribly pleased with himself, and it showed.

 _“I’m feelin’ like a bad boy, mm just a like a bad boy.”_ He did. He really did.

 _“_ _I'm rippin' up a Rag Doll, like throwin' away an old toy.”_ So maybe not the _sweetest_ love ballad, but it was still a kick-ass song. Tony sang out the rest of the verse exuberantly, dancing around to his heart’s content while his actual heart stared up at him with a look that read more borderline murderous than it did content.

Somehow he made it through a second round of the chorus without getting blasted to the moon, and by then Tony had had his fill.

“Love you _babe!”_ He hollered at Stephen, tossing the mic aside and grinning like a maniac. He jumped off the stage, Aerosmith continuing on with the song over the speakers.

Tony locked eyes with Stephen and smiled the whole way over to him. He got a couple pats on the back, shared a few grinning head nods, and earned a fist-bump from Christine of all people. Stephen waited for him to come over, his gaze unfalteringly unamused. That just made Tony smile wider.

“Good song, right?” Tony got in real close, wrapping his arms around Stephen’s waist.

“You are insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it.”

“ _Despite_ it maybe.”

“Liar. You were living for it.”

“Yes, well, I’d forgotten how much I liked getting called a _hot tramp_ in front of everyone I know.”

“The people deserve to know the truth.”

Stephen looked at Tony, contemplating something.

“What? Something on my face?”

“Nope.” He turned and began leading Tony away by the wrist.

“Where are we going—are we going where I think we’re going.”

“Yup.”

“Oh, _hell_ yes.”

“Banishing you doesn’t shut you up, neither, apparently, does ignoring you—”

“ _Glaring_ at me,” Tony corrected.

“ _Ignoring_ you, so I’m going to have to find a different way to shut you up.”

“I like where this is going.”

Stephen just smirked over his shoulder, leading Tony out of the room.

“I’m getting laid!” Tony called back into the room, the song still playing too loudly for anyone beyond their direct vicinity to hear.

“No shit!” Nat yelled back.

“That’s wonderful news! Sex is a powerful—” Thor started, but Tony never got to hear the end of that amazing sentence because Stephen was pulling him through a portal into their bedroom and snapping it shut behind them.

“You never do shut up, do you?” Stephen wondered, turning back to Tony.

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’m going to shut you up,” Stephen promised, stepping into his space.

“Be my—” Stephen grabbed him by the jacket lapels and kissed him hard, immediately demanding entrance into Tony’s mouth, swiping his tongue against his lips and pressing his teeth into them. Tony opened up for him right away, meeting Stephen’s tongue with the wet slide of his own. Stephen spun them around, walking Tony backwards toward the bed and vanishing Tony’s clothes as they went.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Stephen informed him, pulling away from his lips for a second to level him with the wicked glint in his eyes. He pressed his clothed hips into Tony’s very naked ones, letting him feel the hardening line of his arousal.

 _“Awesome,”_ Tony replied, practically glowing with excitement, his pupils shot already.

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

“Pretty sure you said you were going to _shut me_ up.”

Stephen gave him a push and Tony found himself landing back on the mattress, weight rested back on his hands and grinning up at Stephen. Stephen dropped his knees onto the bed, bracketing Tony’s hips, his hands coming up to rest on either side of Tony’s face, thumbs shakily caressing his cheeks.

“So I did,” Stephen whispered, staring intently at Tony, drinking up his eyes, fingers tracing his cheek bones and then the swell of his lips. Tony snuck out his tongue, catching the edge of Stephen’s thumb and nipping at it. Stephen leaned in close, bending down to whisper into Tony’s ear, “Move back.” The tingle of Stephen’s breath, the breathiness of his voice, sent a shiver down Tony’s spine and he complied, turning onto his knees and crawling up to the headboard, making sure Stephen had the perfect view of his ass.

“On your back,” Stephen instructed, starting to pull at his shirt buttons, still kneeling on the far edge of the bed. Tony followed his instructions, leaning back against the headboard and sitting with his legs astride, his knees up and hands rested on them. Absolutely nothing was left to the imagination.

“Like what you see?” Tony joked.

“Always,” Stephen replied sincerely, pulling apart the last of the buttons. Compared to doing them up, taking them apart was a cake walk. He shrugged off his shirt and let it drop to the floor, revealing that strong, chiseled chest and abdomen Tony so enjoyed tracing with his tongue and teeth. Stephen could vanish away his clothes, like he’d done with Tony’s, but what was the fun in that. He wanted to take a moment to enjoy the view.

“Touch yourself,” Stephen directed, pulling apart his belt. Tony’s hand all but jumped off his knee, falling between his legs to stroke at his arousal once, then dropping lower to cup and fondle his own balls. His other hand dropped down too after he gave it a lewd lick, staring directly into Stephen's eyes. He palmed his dick before wrapping it in a light grip and pulling, a soft sound of satisfaction slipping past his lips.

“Slower.” Tony obliged, head falling back with a moan, though more so at the heady rush of following Stephen’s orders. Stephen was standing off the bed again, kicking off his shoes and letting his pants drop, pulling off the rest of his clothes and then dropping back onto the mattress. He was thick and full already, the sight of Tony slowly working himself, losing himself in his own ministrations, incredibly arousing.

He crawled up the bed, stopping to kneel between Tony’s legs and brush his hands away to replace them with his own momentarily, really just running his fingers lightly up Tony’s shaft and watching him twist up to try and get more friction. Stephen didn’t give it to him. Instead, summoning a thin length of rope and grabbing Tony’s wrists in both hands, he pushed Tony’s hands up above his head, letting the rope snake around his wrists and secure them to the headboard. Tony’s eyes went wide and he licked his lips, pulling at the restraints experimentally. They didn’t budge.

“Guess this means you’re gonna drag out the foreplay,” Tony observed, only half complaining.

“Guess so,” Stephen agreed. He angled in to kiss Tony, one hand bracing against the headboard and the other pushing through Tony’s hair, trailing down to his nape and holding Tony’s head in place as he plundered his mouth, alternating between delving into the slick heat of Tony’s mouth and biting at his lips, then laving them with his tongue. The room was quiet save for their deepening breaths and the soft sounds of them kissing. Tony moaned needily into Stephen's mouth, thrusting his hips up when Stephen didn’t return a hand to his dick in a timely manner. Stephen smirked, but didn’t comply.

Instead, much to Tony’s dismay, he pulled away and moved backwards.

“Let me just say, moving back is not as sexy as moving clos—” Tony yelped as he was suddenly yanked by the hips further down the bed, leaving him mostly laying down with his hands still firmly secured above his head and his shoulders propped up on the pillows.

“Again with the talking.”

“Gift and a curse. Mostly just a gift, I think.”

Stephen moved closer between Tony’s still raised knees, leaning down to mouth at his neck, one arm still straight and supporting himself off the mattress, the other now shakily trailing down the unoccupied side of Tony’s neck. His hand moved down to run over Tony’s chest, tracing the edge of the housing unit Tony insisted on always wearing. Stephen bit down on that sensitive spot, just below his ear, eliciting a gasp from Tony, and then a hiss as Stephen sucked down, sucking a hickey into his flesh.

“You just want everyone to see I’m yours,” Tony accused.

“Given the way in which we exited our own party and the little _tribute_ you paid me in front of everyone, I think there’s little question left in their minds, regardless of how many bruises I’m going to suck into your neck.” Stephen’s fingers moved over to play with Tony’s nipple, tweaking it sharply as he bit down on a fresh spot on Tony’s neck, pulling another gasp, followed by a groan from him. Tony’s head fell to the side, baring more of his neck while his knee came up to brush against Stephen’s hip as Stephen continued to pepper marks down his throat. Stephen’s hand dropped from Tony’s nipple, ghosting down his side feather light, light enough to send involuntary shivers racing up Tony’s spine.

Satisfied that Tony’s neck was thoroughly molested, Stephen moved on to his shoulder, dotting light kisses over it and his clavicle. His wandering hand continued on, moving across to brush against Tony’s abdomen, tracing the well-defined muscles there. He bit into Tony’s shoulder, pulling another hiss from the man under him and a tug against the ropes holding his wrists back.

“Did you not fucking eat dinner, or what?”

Stephen just smiled against Tony’s skin and carried on, sucking and biting bruises and marks across his skin, laving at them as he went along.

Tony’s breath hitched as Stephen’s hand finally, _finally,_ dipped below his navel and ran against his throbbing, neglected hardness. Relief didn’t come, however, as Stephen continued further down, cupping his balls before pressing against his perineum and then his entrance.

Stephen muttered something incomprehensible against Tony’s shoulder and Tony tensed automatically, familiar with what was coming next. A cool sensation rippled through him, cleaning him out and leaving him more relaxed than before. It wasn’t a terrible sensation, Tony just didn’t appreciate his asshole feeling cold, even if it _was_ just for a second. Stephen’s fingers felt slick against him. When _the fuck_ he did that, Tony had no idea—but it suddenly didn’t matter because he was pushing one of those slicked fingers up into Tony, catching his rim and then sliding up to the last knuckle with relative ease.

“So tight,” Stephen teased, crooking a finger in search of Tony’s prostate.

“Fuck you,” Tony replied without much venom.

“Next time,” Stephen agreed.

“Thought you were gonna shut me up,” Tony breathed. Stephen bit down on the juncture of his neck again in retaliation, finding Tony’s prostate and pressing against it. Tony arched into Stephen and gasped, his wrists pulling against their restraints.

Stephen pushed another finger in alongside, his hands shaking slightly but more than capable of doing the job. He slowly thrust them in and out, brushing against Tony’s prostate as often as he could, and then scissored his fingers apart, stretching Tony out as he continued on licking and sucking at his flesh.

“Fuck,” Tony gasped, his legs falling further apart to give Stephen more room.

Stephen pushed away from Tony’s neck, sitting back on heels, still moving his hand. He slipped a third finger in and ran his other trembling hand soothingly down the inside of Tony’s thigh, stopping to caress the soft junction of Tony’s inner thigh and groin with his thumb.

“Jesus. That’s _enough. Fuck_ me,” Tony breathed out, arching against a particularly insistent push against his prostate. Stephen watched his fingers disappear into Tony’s willing body a few more times before he finally pulled them all the way out, watching Tony’s hole flutter against the sudden emptiness.

Stephen leaned over, resting a hand beside Tony as he reached up to touch the ropes, grabbing them and gently tugging at them, watching them fall away under his silent command. They slipped away into nothingness in his hand, as he meant them too, and Tony’s arms dropped down.

“Turn over,” Stephen demanded softly, moving back to give him room to do so. Tony didn’t even say anything, he just followed the order, turning over to lay on his stomach, arms folded in front of him.

“On your knees.”

“Bossy,” Tony muttered and received sharp smack on the rear for it, ripping a surprised yelp from him. He pushed himself up onto his knees, getting his elbows under him for support. Stephen smacked him again, hitting the same reddened spot and pulling another sharp sound from Tony.

“The fuck did I do now?” Tony demanded.

“Nothing,” Stephen replied pleasantly. Tony glared at the pillow in front of him.

Instead of fucking him like Tony expected Stephen would finally do, Stephen pushed Tony’s thighs further apart and then dropped to the mattress himself, propping himself up on his elbows. He spread Tony’s cheeks wide and promptly licked a broad stripe from his balls to his asshole, wrenching a “Fuck, _Stephen!”_ from Tony. Stephen kissed his pucker, tonguing at it until those strong thighs were shaking, and then he pressed in, wiggling his tongue past Tony’s already loose entrance.

 _“Stephen!”_ Tony gasped, pushing back against that tongue doing wicked things to him. Stephen thrust his tongue into Tony, thrilling in the little moans that were falling from Tony’s lips. He pulled it out and sucked at him before piercing his tongue suddenly back into Tony, curling his tongue against the other side of that tight ring of muscle. Tony’s fingers dug into the sheets, gripping them hard.

Tony was babbling now, _“Fuck,_ fuck, Stephen, _Jesus,”_ rocking his hips back against Stephen’s tongue. Stephen stepped it up a notch, and suddenly there weren’t just two hands on Tony, holding his cheeks apart, but another pair, one hand sliding two fingers in next to Stephen’s tongue and the other reaching down to fondle Tony’s balls. He left Tony’s cock untouched, letting it hang between his thighs, heavy and leaking. Tony bucked, moaning loudly and Stephen pressed down against that bundle of nerves inside him, scissoring his fingers before slipping a third in alongside.

“Stephen, Stephen, _Stephen,_ _fuck.”_ Tony’s knees started slipping against the sheets, debauched and incoherent. Stephen kept going, sucking and licking and spearing with his tongue, thrusting, scissoring and kneading with his fingers.

He pulled away from Tony, who moaned at the loss, and pushed himself up onto his knees,  reaching out to run his tremoring hands—just the two now—over the swell of Tony’s ass and down the sides of his thighs before moving closer and summoning himself some more lube to slick over his own aching hardness. He steadied a hand on Tony’s waist and lined himself up, taking a moment to admire the sheen of his saliva dripping from Tony’s hole. He didn’t bother teasing Tony anymore and took him in one smooth thrust.

 _“Stephen!”_ Tony cried out, head dropping to the mattress. Stephen groaned as he bottomed out, grabbing Tony’s hips with both hands and wasting no time before he pulled out and slammed back home again.

 _“Fuck, Tony,”_ he gasped, thrusting into his tight, slick heat ruthlessly. One thrust after another, and then he was angling to find that spot. It took Stephen a few tries, but then Tony was crying out from under him, arching and slamming his hips back into Stephen in time with his thrusts, gasping for breath.

Stephen picked up his speed, pounding mercilessly against Tony’s prostate now that he’d found it again, and Tony’s cries gradually became garbled, bleeding into sobs.

“Stephen, Stephen, _Stephen!”_ His name was the only thing on Tony’s lips. Close to shutting up, but not quite.

Stephen slowed and leaned over, grabbing Tony by the shoulder with one hand, still tightly gripping his hip with the other, and pulled him up off the bed to sit in his lap. He picked up the pace again, gripping Tony’s hips and driving up into Tony, the new angle letting him get deeper into him, hit harder and more often against his prostate. Stephen moaned in Tony’s ear as he slammed up into him, Tony’s knees falling apart on either side of Stephen’s, doing his best to match the rough, deep thrusts into his body. His hand came up to grab for Stephen’s head, his fingers burying in his hair. Stephen slammed up into him again, and again, and _again,_ hitting his prostate almost each time. Tony’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, his other hand coming down to tug at his neglected cock. Stephen bit down on his neck and Tony was done, tightening around Stephen and going taut before going completely boneless and sagging back against him.

Tony was panting, his eyes closed, but otherwise he was completely silent.

Stephen pushed him over, depositing him back on the mattress and pulling Tony’s hips up himself, intent on chasing after his own pleasure now. His pace became irregular, slamming into Tony with abandon. Tony moaned brokenly, face pressed against the mattress and eyes still closed.

“Tony,” Stephen gasped, thrusting a few more times into him before his hips stuttered and he spent himself deep within Tony, groaning. He collapsed on top of him, catching his breath, both of them damp with sweat.

Tony shifted under him and Stephen took it as his cue to push himself up, slipping himself from Tony’s warm body. Tony let out a quiet whimper as he did, his hole sensitive and used.

Stephen dropped onto his back, laying next to Tony’s face-down, prone form. He rested for a moment, letting the post-orgasmic bliss wash over him, before getting up to grab a towel from the bathroom. He could have easily opened a portal and nabbed it from the comfort of their bed, but he thought he could do with a stretch.

“I’ll be right back,” Stephen said. Tony didn’t reply, barely moved at all, just flapped a hand in Stephen’s general direction.

“Finally shut you up,” Stephen muttered, more to himself, a smile playing on his lips. He returned to the bed a minute or so later, warm, damp towelette in hand for Tony, to find him in exactly the same position he’d left him. With any luck, he was sleeping. Stephen carefully knelt on the bed and made his way over to Tony.

“What,” Tony mumbled. No such luck.

“Nothing. Close your eyes.”

“‘M not tired,” Tony responded.

“Uh huh.” Stephen didn’t sound very convinced. He gently towelled Tony down, taking pleasure in the intimacy of wiping away the mess he’d created. Tony moaned appreciatively when the warm towel ran over that still slightly reddened spot on his ass, and then hissed when it passed over his sensitive hole. Once he was satisfied that Tony was sufficiently cleaned off, Stephen conjured a small glowing disc between his fingers and pressed it into the bed, letting it wash the mess away from the sheets underneath. He pressed a kiss against Tony’s shoulder and left the bed again, returning to the bathroom.

He just finished washing out the towel when Tony’s voice, very much _not_ asleep, rang out from the adjacent room. “What the _fuck,_ Stephen?!”

Stephen frowned, hung up the towel and stepped back into the room. Tony was sitting up on the bed, apparently having grabbed his Stark phone to inspect the damage on his neck.

“There are like _eight_ fucking hickies here, you fucking _vampire,_ ” Tony accused, running a hand over his neck.

Stephen just smirked, proud of his work.

Tony changed the angle of the phone, taking proper a look at his shoulder. “What the shit?! There are like six more here! Seriously Stephen, _what the hell?”_ He ran a concerned hand over the offending bruises.

Stephen didn’t even have the decency to look slightly penitent, he just shook his head and walked over to their closet. Technically, it was _one_ of their closets, but details.

“That didn’t last long,” Stephen observed.

“What?” Tony didn’t understand.

“You. Shutting up.” Stephen grabbed a pair of worn, clean briefs for Tony and a soft, grey pair of pyjama pants for himself, turning around to chuck the briefs at Tony.

Tony caught them and _didn’t_ chuck them right back at Stephen’s face, but he glared at Stephen nonetheless. Whether that was elicited by the shutting up comment or the discovery of Stephen’s artwork, Stephen wasn’t entirely sure. He suspected it was a bit of both.

He pulled on his pants and climbed back into bed. Tony tossed his phone aside and pulled the sheets over himself, punching the pillows a few times before dropping down onto them. After a moment, Tony turned around to face Stephen, who was watching him intently. Tony narrowed his eyes at him, but then moved closer anyway, shuffling towards Stephen until he was pressed right up against him. Stephen’s arms came up around him, letting Tony settle into his embrace.

“Still mad about the neck mauling.”

“I think we’re even then.”

“...Yeah, that’s fair,” Tony agreed, quickly running through all the little (and big) things he’d recently been doing to piss off Stephen. He suddenly wasn’t quite as upset about the absurd amount of hickies he’d be sporting for at least the next week. In fact, he’d probably use them to freak a lot of people out. Tony enjoyed freaking people out.

“You know, as far as declarations of love go, you picked a pretty crass song,” Stephen pointed out, sensing that Tony wasn’t exactly willing to fall asleep yet.

“Yeah, isn’t it the best?” Tony paused, looking up to catch Stephen’s eye. “What, do you have a better idea?”

Stephen was silent.

“You _do.”_ Tony’s eyes lit up. “That’s adorable. You’ve picked out our love song.”

Stephen’s eyes flickered away briefly.

 _“Songs? Plural?_ You have a whole damn list ready, don’t you?”

“I do not.” Stephen insisted, perhaps a little more weakly than he intended.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“So you _do!”_

_“Tony.”_

_“Tell me,”_ Tony whined.

“1972, Jim Croce, Time in a Bottle,” Stephen relented, looking away.

“Oh God, you _are_ a sap. Keep going.”

“1952, Nat King Cole, Unforgettable,” Stephen muttered.

“What’s that?” Tony teased leaning in closer.

“You heard me.”

“That you think I’m _unforgettable,_ _in every way?”_ Tony sang out the last bit. “Yeah, I heard you. _Please_ tell me you’ve got Sinatra in there.”

“Witchcraft, 1957, Come Fly with Me, 19—are you going to make me do this all night?” Stephen began admitting before stopping to level Tony with a half-hearted glare.

“You just revealed how soft and _gooey_ you really are, so _yeah_ , I’m gonna make you do this all night. Should’ve been you up on that stage, apparently, not me.”

“Does that mean you concede the vulgarity of your choice?”

“No, my song was awesome. How ‘bout Scorpions? No epic love mixtape is complete without a little sting.”

“What, like, No One Like You? Rock You Like a Hurricane?”

_“Tease me, please me, no one needs to know.”_

“I’m not actually making you a mixtape.”

“What? Come on, please? It’ll be adorable.”

“Make your own mixtape.”

“Fine, I will.”

“Why do I get the sense I won’t like it.”

“You’ll love it.”

“Doubtful.”

“I’ll be sure to include all your mushy love songs.”

“I do not—”

 _“L is for the way you look at me,”_ Tony started, heedless of Stephen’s protests.

“Despite the gusto with which you performed earlier, you aren’t actually the world’s best singer.”

 _“O is for the only one I see,”_ Tony continued, louder, volume much too high for his proximity to Stephen’s ear.

“You’ve made your point.”

 _“V is very, very extraordinary!”_ Quite the dramatic performance; Tony’s was really going for it. _“E is even more than anyone that—”_

The rest of the line got muffled under the pillow Stephen had pulled out from under his own head and slapped over Tony’s face.

Tony didn’t move the pillow away, however, just continued singing from under it, untroubled—if anything, he got _louder_. The words were slightly indiscernible, but the notes seemed to be right.

“You are exceedingly tiresome,” Stephen sighed, exasperated, pushing himself up and rolling over to sit on Tony, straddling his torso.

 _“—make it, take my heart—”_ As quickly as Tony’s serenade was freed from the confines of the pillow, it was muffled again, this time by Stephen’s lips. He kissed him hard at first, brokering no argument, and Tony gave up his song, kissing back instead. Tony’s hands came up to bury themselves in Stephen's hair, carding his fingers through it, while Stephen’s hands stayed planted on either side of Tony’s head. Stephen licked his way into his mouth, pulling a groan from Tony. They kissed for a bit—Stephen leading the way and Tony more than happy to just follow along—until Stephen pulled back, nipping at Tony’s lower lip as he went.

“There. Now shut up, and go to sleep,” Stephen directed, pulling himself off of Tony and landing—gracefully, of course—on the mattress next to him.

“Tease,” Tony complained.

“Next time I won’t ask so nicely.”

Tony decided not to push his luck, _for once,_ and was actually quite content to just curl up next to Stephen, smiling silently.

“Love you babe.”

“I love you too, Tony.” Stephen replied softly.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated very much! Many thanks to my beta reader; without her my world would stop turning. 
> 
> I hope that wasn’t literally just a slightly longer version of the last one I wrote. Do I need to tell you which songs I used? I’m not sure how this works. Oh, and I’m contemplating writing something a little longer with, wait for it, chapters, gasp. We’ll see if that pans out… Thanks for putting up with me. ^-^ I hope I made someone smile.


End file.
